A Most Preposterous and Wondrous Tale
by the Gibbler
Summary: It silently screamed to the heavens as the well crumbled and the xhinc Unraveled the emberal magic and took with it the body of the figure, gaping mouth and all." ... A tale of Granger and Malfoy.
1. Prologue One

**Title **A Most Preposterous and Wondrous Tale

**Author** the Gibbler

**Category**General, Adventure

**Sub-Category** Romance

**Rating** T

**Spoiler(s)** SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, FB, QTTA, OoTPs

**Main Character(s)** Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy

**Summary** "It silently screamed to the heavens as the well crumbled and the_xhinc_ Unraveled the emberal magic and took with it the body of the figure, gaping mouth and all…"

**Disclaimer** Recognizable characters belong to J.K. Rowling, who is sadly not me, for then I would not be here on but out somewhere with over a billion dollars under my command. Life does indeed suck. :)

**Author Notes** This is my first FanFiction. I posted this first prologue well over a year ago (in October, 2006), but kind of abandoned it afterwards. I'm back now and decided to re-post the first prologue with some changes. I have a better plan of where I want to go with fic, so I do plan on posting regularly. However, what I _want_ and what actually aspires are hardly ever one and the same – doesn't life just downright suck sometimes? – and so there _may_ be times when readers would want to rip me to shreds for delaying (I apologize in advance). In fact, the frequency of posts depends on how much I have on my plate in terms of school, work, etc. and also, of course, on whether the FanFiction community actually wants to read some more: what's the point of continuing if no one is going to read, right? Thus said, let's see how this turns out, shall we?

**A Most Preposterous and Wondrous Tale**

_**Prologue One**_

Ah, yes, my last story and possibly the most invigorating, as I may say so myself. Truly astonishing that life is coming to a close and I am left with only parchment and a quill to recall its accounts. Why should I not do what I am about to do? Surely, life's demands have been met – there was a job, a home, a good husband, children, grandchildren – and, so, now I am at peace to just sit back and remember. I must admit, though, I do not have the same vigor as I used to in my hands: they cannot write as fast as they once were famous for – or "infamous," depending on whichever perspective you held me in: friend or foe – nor can my mind come up with its orders to the said hands as quickly.

But this story must be told above all the rest, and I see my mistake now: I should have written this one before the others. But then I could not have, for it requires its base from the others; it is not one to stand on its own. How can one possibly recall such a, for lack of a better term, preposterous and wondrous tale from the depths of memory alone and pass it into words on mere parchment? I possibly cannot, not without the help of all the accounts that led up to the abovementioned preposterous and wondrous tale.

And thus, I am long overdue to begin a story in which I am not a great part, but whose accounts have affected me (and the rest of the world) so greatly that it deserves its own parchment and place on some shelf. I assure you, the story does have a "once upon a time," as do all stories, and there is a hero and his heroine (or, more correctly, a heroine and her hero), and there is the heroine and her hero's enemy, and all the other good stuff that make up a good tale. Therefore, the question is not if this story is actually a good story with all the qualities it is supposed to posses, but if one is willing to sacrifice some valuable time to read its accounts.

That, dear Reader, is a decision wholly placed on your shoulders. My job is to take memory and render it into words, yours is to take the said words and render them into memory – a steady transfer indeed. Therefore, make up your mind now, for I assure you that once you begin, there is little chance of turning back and sacrificed your time shall be. Decided?

And so – do not fail me now, hands – my story, which is not really _my_ story, but the world's story, begins:

"Once upon a time, there was a girl…"

**End Notes** I know this tidbit is rather confusing, but bear with me. It would all come to light in due time. Also, feedback, both of the positive and negative variety, is always much appreciated, folks…

Until next time,  
the Gibbler


	2. Prologue Two

**Title** A Most Preposterous and Wondrous Tale

**Author** the Gibbler

**Category** General, Adventure

**Sub-Category** Romance

**Rating** T

**Spoiler(s)** SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, FB, QTTA, OoTPs

**Main Character(s)** Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy

**Summary** "It silently screamed to the heavens as the well crumbled and the_xhinc_ Unraveled the emberal magic and took with it the body of the figure, gaping mouth and all…"

**Disclaimer** Recognizable characters belong to J.K. Rowling. All the rest are mine, and although they won't bring me millions in cash, know that they are loved.

**Author Notes** I'm not sure if there is such a thing as two prologues, but I'm going to have two anyway (despite proper literary protocol), since this cannot really be a chapter and the first prologue was necessary, so that leaves it to be the second prologue. It hardly answers the questions that arise from part one, only makes room for more of the buggers – sorry. But know that any confusion would be resolved in good time. Just be patient, young grasshopper. And without further ado, here it is…

_**Prologue Two**_

A mouse skittered somewhere to the right. If not a mouse, then surely some creature of a similar breed, possibly a shrew, or a small rat, even a squirrel. Whatever the creature was, it smelled of rodent, therefore was given only a fleeting span of attention by the figure dressed entirely in black – or some dark color that might as well have been black since, either way, the figure was completely one with the shadows. There was no moon above, and the figure let the slight disappointment surface only for a fleeting moment before returning its full attention back to the mission at hand. Moonlight would have done well to heighten the emberal magic currently coursing through the figure's body (even though the planet's moon was a small substitute for the three moons back on Zerryn), but it would have to do without it. The mission could not be put off any longer.

Another shuffle in the leaves drew away the figure's attention once again – it fleetingly registered in the figure's thoughts that there were more nerves than were strictly called for; it would not do to botch up the mission because of a case of nervousness, however, especially when success was so near. A quick sniff in the general direction of the noise informed that it was still only rodent, in fact the same one as before. It irritated the figure to be strung out over such a small thing as a mouse scurrying across the forest undergrowth, possibly hoping for a scrap of food left behind by larger predators. Just when the figure was contemplating casting a quick and simple _hemian_ on the rodent so as to end its miserable existence, there was no more rodent smell, so distinct with shallow sweat and dirtied fur across small, rippling muscles. It amazed the figure how very similar the smells associated with certain animals were on this planet to the figure's own home planet, an earthing planet itself, but the amazement was quick to be replaced by wariness and a slight sense of unease.

Sniffing in the myriad scents of the forest, the figure quickly and efficiently sorted and classified the smells into categories. There were many scents new to the figure's senses – after all, it _was_ a new planet, despite its similar qualities to Zerryn – but all of these foreign scents registered as mostly harmless, therefore discarded for the most part. However, there was still no distinct smell of rodent and that was ample cause to be wary, for no mindless creature could up and disappear in an instant; it could not have run off fast enough nor buried itself under leaves or in some hollow in a tree and gone unchecked, for the figure's sense of smell was acute even by the standards of its people, who were notorious for their acutely tuned sniffers, products of generations upon generations of selective magical breeding. The figure's own sense of smell had a spherical radial range of quite an impressive amount. Pinning a rodent that had been a scant few feet away moments ago should have been no problem at all. Even if the rodent had moved away in a _downright impressive_ burst of speed (or burrowing) to get out of the figure's range of smell, there should have been a distinct trail of chemicals left behind, a neon sign pointing in the departing rodent's direction.

But there was no such trail, nor were there any other wafting chemicals smelling of rodent anywhere, at least not of the particular rodent that had disturbed the figure's attention not once, but twice, in the past several minutes. Sure enough, there were _plenty_ of rodents and other bigger, more dangerous animals scurrying and prowling around in the general vicinity, but each individual creature had a marked scent, and the figure was quite confident in its sense of smell to distinguish between one individual rodent from another.

And so because the disturbing mouse, or shrew, or whatever the hell it had been that had been scurrying in the undergrowth was no longer there (and without good cause), the figure drew one of its daggers from the belt looped around its black attire and called upon a simple glyph to charm the blade. It was shrewd enough to call upon one of the more menial glyphs, for they did not require an accumulation of light energy nor sound waves to settle in by way of a medium. It would not do to alert whatever was out there – _if_ there was anything out there more than the usual forest inhabitants – with a flash of light. It occurred to the figure that a simple veiling glyph, an un-medial glyph itself, could have always been used in succession and mergence with one of the stronger medial glyphs to mask the light (or noise), but there was hardly time to draw upon one glyph, let alone two, especially in foreign atmosphere, if the figure's still existing sense of wariness and slight alarm was any indication.

Therefore, when the glyph, invisible but for its slight concentration of magic in a small pocket of air in front of the figure, was embedded in the blade (as the slight hum of the merging of metal with glyph subsided), the result wasn't quite the deadliest of weapons. But it would have to do for the most part, especially if there indeed was only a rodent that had, in fact, gotten under the radar, and the sense of alarm was only a result of the figure's already heightened nerves.

Gripping the dagger in a practiced hand and casting a quick glance in all directions as well as a sniffing to the outermost reaches of its sense, the figure walked the scant few feet to the right, where the scurrying of the rodent had been for the most part. It distinctly registered in the back of its mind that its muscles and bones groaned from the movement, and _not_ for the first time did the figure acknowledge, albeit grudgingly, that it was getting far too old for these missions. Surely, in its younger days, however far, far into the past _those_ were, a few lerrings of standing still in an upright position would have been hardly anything, let alone tiring. But, alas, time, the devil that it was, was finally catching up and the cracking of stiff bones and painful stretching of previously latent muscles was little surprise to the figure as it moved towards the rodent's abandoned spot.

Despite age, the figure still moved with an impressive grace, at least as much as could be deterred from the black silhouette amongst slightly blacker shadows that the figure mostly was to the naked eye. Bending at the waste, it sniffed again, only to smell rotting leaves and a fungus-ridden nest of upturned tree roots several feet away. There was still absolutely no sign of that individual rodent, and the figure was not _that_ old as to doubt its proud sniffer. Deciding that the senses could only do so much, the figure straightened and after another quick glance and sniff around (for good measure), it closed its eyes and let go of its latent, sixth sense. It focused its attentions once again on the surrounding forest, trying to grasp onto anything that was magical in origin, at least of the foreign variety. The forest, itself, was actually oozing of magic, and although it _was_, in truth, foreign to the figure for the most part and one which it had never stored or called upon, the figure had come to recognize it as the magic of this particular planet. The only other magic that should have been present with the native magic was the figure's own stored magic, the emberal magic. Sure enough, the first perusal of the surroundings for at least a good distance in all directions did not result in any hint of foreign magic. Of course, the figure thought rather wryly, there could always be a magic that was not detectable by the means that the figure was associated with, which would mean it had to be a non-earthing magic if it went undetected on an earthing planet, and the figure most certainly _did not_ want to think about that. Or what it could surely mean if that _indeed_ were the case.

Hardly suppressing a shudder and clamping down on its heightening sense of alarm, for there was absolutely _no_ reason to believe that an non-earthing variety of magic was present, since that could surely only mean one thing and _that_ was most definitely out of the question, _that_ it was only its nerves speaking and the slight exhaustion of having to stand in one place for so long, the figure reeled in its sixth sense from the outreaches of the surroundings so in order to more concentrate the sense, albeit on a smaller area. For the foreign magic, if any, could always be very slight and therefore avoiding detection. Slowly reeling in its magical sense, the figure concentrated more and more on its immediate radial surroundings, until the observed area was only a few meters in radius and the magical sense so concentrated that surely _any_ foreign magic would have been detected. Although it was true that the figure's magical sense was not as toned as its physical sense of smell, it still had extensive experience with many, many kinds of magics, and there was hardly, _if_ any, dimensional magic of any variety that it could not detect in said magic's particular dimension. The figure was _sure_ of that.

Therefore, there could only be one explanation. There was simply no foreign magic present. Reverting back to the physical senses, the figure realized that it was still clutching the dagger in its hand. It wondered why it had really taken out the dagger in the first place. If there was really a magical danger, then a charmed dagger would hardly do much. Sighing, the figure re-called the quickly fading glyph and coaxed it, however small magic was left in its form, back into a baser emberal magical quality; it would not do to waste any magic, however small. The dagger was put as swiftly back into place as it had been withdrawn earlier.

Sure that there was no imminent danger and that perhaps the rodent had, in fact, passed its attention and mingled in with the rest of the critter population – it _was_ a foreign planet and _perhaps_ the figure was not as accustomed to the new aromas to distinguish between them, especially on an individual level, as it first thought – the figure turned around from the rodent's spot to go back to its previous position. However, it just could not persuade the feeling of unease that had first arisen when the rodent had all but disappeared to go away. The figure had not reached such an advanced age to lay no confidence in its instincts, which were possibly even sharper than its sense of smell. Many a times, death had been avoided on instinct alone. There was _something_ amiss. The figure was sure of it, however much it wanted to believe otherwise.

The idea of an undetectable non-earthing magic came back, unbidden. But the idea was once again banished, for it was only short of impossible that that would be the case. Still, nothing but magic could have annihilated the rodent smell so quickly and efficiently. And although the rodent could have very well just mingled with the rest of the population, the figure knew in the pits of its gut that that was hardly the case either. Sighing again, it turned around and started to try one last time on the whim. Quickly tuning into its magical sense, the figure concentrated the whole of its sense, of which there was a great bit, it was proud to admit, on the few feet of undergrowth in which the rodent had scurried. The magical sense was so concentrated in only a radial sphere of few feet that _no_ foreign dimensional magic, however slight and fleeting, would have gone undetected. Sure enough and even with a slight sense of relief, for the idea of the presence of non-earthing magic was completely banished now, the figure detected the _slightest_ bit of foreign magic not the figure's own.

Not liking the presence of a foreign magic, but nonetheless happy to know _at least_ what the problem now was, the figure concentrated its sense more, but could not identify the magic any further than the fact that it was indeed foreign. Deciding to call upon its own magic to help in the sensing, the figure reached into the well that it liked to picture as the holding place of its magic and encountered the currently residing emberal magic. Pulling on a few threads of the misty form of the magic (or so it liked to imagine as the form of emberal magic), the figure sent them out towards where the slight sense of foreign magic was. Sure enough, the residue of the foreign magic became more concentrated, and therefore easier to identify with, as the figure willed the tendrils of magic to act as a pouch of sorts. Concentrating the faint magic as much as it could, the figure once again reached out its magical sense to the bundle of foreign magic.

And what it found was so _horrifying_ that the figure lost its hold on its magical sense and concentration on the emberal magic. It barely recalled of quickly stepping away from the spot in which the foreign magical debris was in such an ungraceful manner as it would never have moved in if it weren't for complete, abject shock. The figure groped for a nearby tree trunk for a balance that it would have been too proud to divulge in under any other circumstances, and it fervently wished to be in _any_ place, any planet, but the one it was currently on. It, from a detached part of its mind, realized that it was going into a horror-stricken shock and that its body was very well close to hyperventilating if its heaving breaths and bent posture were any indication. And for good reason, too. The presence of even a non-earthing magic, one that did not belong in the current dimension, would have been far, _far_ better than this. This, _this_ could not be. There was _no way_, not even in the far niches of imagination, that what it had detected was, in fact, what the figure thought it was. _No way. None!_

But the figure also knew, just as it knew that the sky was blue on this particular planet and that Zerryn had three moons, one greatly smaller than the other two, that what it detected was just what it now feared the most. The ancient signs which the figure almost inherently knew to look and sense for, as they tampered with even the basest, most primal of his being, were all there. And then the figure also knew that it was going to soon die. Emberal magic, although by far not the most advanced of earthing magics, _was_ still far more advanced than the magic native to this planet, of which there was not that much in the first place. It would surely die – no, be totally _annihilated_ from existence – long before the effects were seen on the planet and then onwards from there. The figure wondered where else in the dimensional plane the _xhinc_, a concept which had been all but theory only moments ago, had started to unravel.

And then it thought of its home planet, of the lush forests on Zerryn and the constant red sky similar to the sunset of this planet, and of the crisp air that was not as bogged down by foreign, uncomfortable gasses. And then it thought of its family, its husbands and wife and children and their children, and the figure suddenly wanted nothing more than to be with them during its last moments of existence and not on some foreign planet on a mission that would never be completed. Memories from its youth, from that far gone time of young love and youthful exuberance and sense of adventure came almost unbidden, but the figure did not try to suppress them. It continued to remember its time with its family, however little that had become over the years as it plunged more and more into ensuring the success of the Cause one mission at a time. The memories still flashed at an alarmingly quick pace even as the figure lowered itself against the trunk of the tree it had previously been clutching for support. It barely noticed that the fungus-ridden roots that it had previously smelled were no longer detectable by scent, and if it had a mind to observe closer, the figure would have noticed that the roots had absolutely no lingering scent whatsoever, just as the rodent before them.

What the figure did notice, however, was the sudden deepening of the exhaustion it had felt earlier from what it had thought was due to standing in one place for so long. It wondered if that had never been the case, if the _xhinc_ had started to act by mere proximity alone even before linking with it by the figure's own internally stored magic. And then it wondered how if the native magic present in the forest had been channeled as efficiently as its own emberal magic, the forest and the planet would have almost as much remaining time as it did, which was hardly much. The figure even thought about quickly taking its own life, which would be a far, _far_ better alternative to what was in store for it. But it knew that taking its own life would do nothing, possibly only make the situation worse, if that could happen, as its unleashed channeled magic would surely be a faster trigger. Nevertheless, the figure took out the dagger that it had taken out earlier that night and almost laughed in wonder whether, deep down, the figure knew, just _knew_, that all this was going to happen and that it should have taken its life well before linking.

But before the figure could grip the uncharmed dagger – for it was terrified of calling upon even an iota of magic for even a simple glyph – more firmly in its hand, the first cracks in the well in which it imagined its magic to be stored appeared. And the figure all but lost any and every train of thought. The _xhinc_ had truly and surely begun the Unraveling.

To say that the figure did not scream would have been true, although there was no lost effort its part; there was just _no time _(as that devil had finally completely left). Its mouth gaped open to the sky that was now black (and only blue, not red, in the morning), silently screaming to the heavens as the well crumbled and the _xhinc_ instantly Unraveled the emberal magic and took with it the body of the figure, gaping mouth and all, in a consummation that was instant and almost anticlimactic.

Three things happened after that, not necessarily one after the other, but almost spontaneously, as if in perfect coordination and harmony with each other. (The silent joke surely did not go unnoticed by some unseen Higher Being on some plane of existence). The black clothes and knife-belt of the figure, as well the dagger that it had clutched right before the Unraveling, dropped to the ground in a grace reminiscent of their previous owner's own grace. A distant star in the very heavens that were the figure's last sight before nonexistence silently winked out forever.

And in a castle somewhere not very far from the forest in which the figure had met its doom, a girl with a bushy mane of untamed hair quickly sat up in bed, now clearly awake with round, terrified eyes and gaping mouth, loudly screaming the scream the figure had not been able to...

**End Notes** I just wrote this whole damn thing in the past few hours or so and I have two exams tomorrow for which I have not studied _one bit_. Therefore, I believe that at the sacrifice of my very education, a request for some feedback and reviews is not uncalled for. Thanks, folks!

Until next time,  
the Gibbler


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